The Spaniard's keen and critical eye took in every detail of this interesting personality: the short, light brown hair worn close to the head, the fair moustache and delicately refined hands, the richness of the doublet, the priceless value of the lace at throat and wrist. "A fop and an idler!" he murmured mentally. Then he thought of the Queen of England. No longer young, with but little taste in ornament and dress, and certes quite unversed in all those wiles, which might have drawn this brilliant butterfly into her net. The Spaniard longed to see these two together. The presence of this formidable adversary gave additional zest to the game he was playing on the political chess-board. An unwilling courtier! A love-sick Queen! Carramba! it was interesting. "When do you return to the Palace, my lord?" Everingham was asking of the Duke. "To-night," replied the latter, "by our gracious Liege Lady's own command." "To-night then?" "Without fail. Harry Plantagenet and I will present our humble respects to Her Majesty." "'Tis au revoir then, Your Grace," quoth Don Miguel. "We meet again to-night." "At your service, my lord Marquis." Still smiling amicably the Spaniard took his leave, soon followed by two of his companions. Lord Everingham too was about to depart, but he felt Wessex' detaining hand on his arm. "That unpleasant-looking Spaniard? . . ." queried the Duke. "Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez," replied Everingham, "envoy of His Majesty, the King of Spain." "Aye, I knew all that. I was merely reflecting that if he happen to be a specimen of our Liege Lady's Court, meseems I were a fool to go back to it." "Come back to it with me now," urged his friend earnestly. "Not till to-night. Do not grudge me these few last hours of freedom. By Our Lady! I meant to consult the famous witch, like a sober burgher out on a holiday. But in the name of all the saints in the calendar let us forget there are such things as Spaniards at the English Court just now." He laughed, a half weary, wholly pleasant laugh, as, followed by his dog, he led his friend in the opposite direction to that in which Don Miguel had rapidly walked away. CHAPTER VIII SILKEN BONDS Wessex and Everingham had readjusted their masks and wrapped their cloaks around them, ere they once more mingled with the crowd which still thronged around the gaily decked booths. The evening now was rapidly drawing in. Hampton Court, in the fast-gathering haze beyond, looked grey and ghostlike, with brightly illumined windows beginning to gleam here and there. With an impatient frown, Wessex deliberately turned his back on the gorgeous pile: it represented boredom to him, politics and dullness, and he loved gaiety, sunshine, and laughter, these merry-makers here, the pretty country wenches with their bare arms and neat ankles showing beneath their brightly coloured robes.